What brings this frothy little Canuck shocker to mind is the serendipitous falling of Valentine's Day directly after Friday the Thirteenth this year. If you have spent any time at all in Fairbanks and environs, this accidental placement of holidays may seem more like some kind of cosmic reinforcement of the stifling status quo than a random shift of the calendar. Nothing seems more fitting and correct than grouping these two feast days together--it allows double the opportunity for drunkenness and depression, and also falls on a payday. A wad of cash in the pocket is the perfect companion to a clot of bitterness in the back of the throat.
Lets face it, while Friday the Thirteenth may indeed be the preferred holiday of crazed loners, Valentine's Day is nothing if not overwhelmingly sad for the single guy. It may even be something of a bummer for the single gal, but there aren't any around here, so the point is moot. For the single guy, the whole "tyranny of couplehood" is bared in sharp relief by the commercial manifestations of this cursed day. Zales tells you to say it with a diamond, FTD says show her you care with a gift of flowers, and every confectioner in the Christian world is gearing up for the Pavlovian run on their specialty lines that happens every year at this time.
Oh yeah, Valentine's is the perfect consumer holiday-- it is aimed at the key shopping demographic; women, and men who are with women. Friday the Thirteenth, on the other hand, is the perfect day for the bachelor; a time to hole up in a sleazy apartment, drink gin and watch the NBA on ESPN. A time for the single fella to get his priorities straight. Clean the guns. Sharpen the pickaxes. Do something constructive for a change.
Sure, there may well be something to say about spending the weekend on a romantic getaway with your honey, but really, doesn't masturbating like a colobus monkey and checking the peephole on the front door compulsively every fifteen minutes sound like a better way to while away the time? Now, with the proximity of the two holidays, we can experience the best of both worlds.
My recommendation for the lonely bachelor on just such an occasion is thus; treat yourself. Take yourself out and ply yourself with a couple of strong cocktails and maybe a nice prime rib dinner. Take yourself to a movie and compliment yourself on your looks. Gaze deeply into your own eyes and whisper sweet nothings. Run your fingers softly through your own hair. This combination of romance and narcissistic psychosis, you'll find, strikes exactly the proper note for this combination holiday. Believe you me, by the end of the evening, the sex will have been worth waiting for.
In "My Bloody Valentine," after about 86 minutes of splattery mayhem, cut down considerably for an 'R' rating, the movie ends on an up note: the maniacal murderer, having decimated an impressive lineup of loving couples, is caught in a cave-in down in the mine. The survivors, another couple of course, hear the far-off ravings of the lunatic as he escapes up an alternate shaft to slay again another Valentine's Day. Sort of brings a tear to the eye, seeing a crafty bachelor prevail over happy couples, even if said bachelor is a gruesome serial killer. Would that it were so in real life! Happy Valentine's Day, and remember, oh publicly demonstrative young lovers, watch your backs!